


A QAF Christmas Carol

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon, Christmas, Holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-26
Updated: 2006-03-26
Packaged: 2018-12-27 12:46:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12081348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: My QAF spin on the Dickens' classic.





	A QAF Christmas Carol

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

Vic was dead. He had been dead for almost two years. Nonetheless, Brian was not in the least bit surprised to see him. Pissed, annoyed, more than a little frightened, but not at all surprised.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He asked the Hawaiian shirt clad apparition sitting at the bar in his kitchen.

“Nice to see you too, Brian,” Vic said, tossing back a very real shot of Scotch from the open bottle in front of him.

Brian threw his keys on the counter and his coat over the back of a chair. He grabbed another glass, then reached for the Scotch and poured himself a large one. He knew he was going to need it for whatever was coming. 

“I thought I got rid of you for once and all after the…” 

“Cancer?” Vic finished for Brian. 

“Yeah, that. So what is it this time? What horrible affliction are you here to portend?”

“It’s not that kind of visit.” Vic took another sip of his drink. “Do you have any soda? You know, just a splash of water enhances the taste of fine Whiskey. Releases the aroma.”

“Fuck the tasting lesson. What do you want?” Brian downed the rest of his Scotch and reached for the bottle again.

“Brian, you’ve always been one to get right to the point. I admire that…well, I would if I gave a damn about time anymore.” Vic smiled and said, “I’m here to do you a favor.”

“Yeah? Thanks but no thanks,” Brian replied, moving towards the bedroom, loosening his tie as he went.

“This is where I tell you it isn’t a choice.” 

Brian jumped when he heard Vic’s voice coming from in front of him. He looked up to find Vic lounging on the bed, drink still in hand. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Brian asked, tossing his jacket and tie on the foot of the bed. 

“You’re going to have three visitors tonight.” Vic laughed at Brian’s eloquently arched eyebrow. “Not tricks, I’m afraid.” Vic sighed and studied the Scotch in his glass before looking back up at Brian and continuing, “You’re turning into a major shit, Brian. And I’m not talking about your usual asshole tendencies; you’re heading down a path you might not be able to veer from if you don’t do something now.”

“I’m the same as I’ve always been,” Brian said with a cocky smirk. “Now would you get the hell out of my life already? Go pay a visit to your sister, or nephew, _someone_ who might actually want to see you…and leave me the fuck alone!”

“You don’t get it yet, do you, Brian? Being ‘the same as always’ is the problem. _You’re_ the one who needs a little, shall we say, _divine intervention_ right now.”

“What I _need_ is a stiff one, and I don’t mean a drink. So if you’d kindly take your after-life bullshit and go, I’d be ever so grateful,” Brian said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Vic ignored Brian’s attitude and shook his head sadly. “You’re on a slippery slope. You can’t keep hiding forever, Brian.”

“Hiding? From what?”

“From yourself. Your past. Your feelings. The people who love you…the people _you_ love.” 

“Being dead has really affected your brain cells, Vic,” Brian laughed. “I’m not hiding from anything.”

“Bullshit.” Vic swallowed the rest of the Scotch in his glass. “You’re lying to everyone, especially yourself, about how you’re feeling. You make jokes about Justin moving to New York. You don’t return Lindsay’s calls. You always find a way to put Michael down when he exhibits the tiniest bit of enthusiasm over married life, or fatherhood, in your presence. They all tolerate it because they love you and have always made allowances for you…but this time is different.”

“First of all,” Brian began, anger making his words clipped and sharp, “Justin is very much aware of how I feel about him. He has to make his own way in the world, do what’s best for him…I’d never expect or want him to sacrifice who he is to be with me, or anyone else. Second, Gus is with his _parents,_ exactly where he should be. He’s happy and he’s young enough to not miss me at all in a few years. And Michael knows that as long as he’s happy, I’m happy for him…I just don’t need to hear every little detail of how Ben’s new book is coming along, or how Hunter’s doing in history, or see the fifty new pictures of Jenny that doting mom Mel sends him every week. And furthermore,” Brian stopped pacing and turned to face Vic, “why the fuck am I explaining any of this to you?”

“Because you’re trying to convince yourself? See Brian, you think you know what’s best for everyone. You pretend it’s the best for them, but really, it’s what’s best for you. Like always. Only, we know the truth, don’t we? You’re still terrified of letting anyone get too close.” 

“Yeah? I’ve tried to be what everyone wanted me to be…it didn’t make anyone happy.”

“What would make you happy, Brian?”

“For you to leave me the fuck alone,” he replied without missing a beat.

“Let’s try again, shall we? Stop the all or nothing approach to life. Stop punishing yourself and calling it protection. Learn to appreciate what you have instead of worrying about when you’re going to lose it.” Vic stood and handed Brian his glass. “Gotta go. Don’t forget, three visitors will be popping in later…to illustrate what I’m telling you. Be nice to them, they’re friends of mine,” he said over his shoulder as he headed toward the door

With a final wave Vic walked through the loft door…without opening it first. 

Brian went over and locked the door behind Vic, knowing it wouldn’t do anything to keep the demented ghost out, should he decide to return, but hearing the sturdy ‘click’ of the dead-bolt gave him a feeling of satisfaction anyway.

Not in the mood for a night out, Brian had some leftover sesame chicken for dinner and then a quick shower. 

“Fuck Vic, fuck his _visitors,_ and fuck his predictions! What does a dead man know about anything anyway,” he muttered to himself as he toweled off. He threw on a white tee shirt and sweats, determined to go to bed and forget all about Vic Grassi and his visit from hell.

Brian switched off the light on his way out of the bathroom and climbed into bed.

“Darling! You look yummy enough to eat…but don’t worry, I only bite by request.”

“Jesus Christ!” Brian yelled as he jumped out of bed and reached to turn on the bedside lamp. He blinked in the dim light and hoped he was seeing things. But no, there in his bed was a fully decked-out-in-holiday-finery, Divina Devore.

“How the fuck did you get in here?” he asked the holly and ribbon festooned Drag Queen.

“That’s my little secret, sugarplum. Weren’t you expecting me? Don’t tell me Vic forgot to warn you,” Divina let out an exasperated sigh. “It always makes it more difficult when they don’t know,” she complained to herself.

Brian squeezed his eyes shut and gave in to the raging insanity threatening to take over. He knew beyond a doubt that _she_ would be there when he opened them back up. He did. She was.

“Vic was here alright, but correct me if I’m wrong…you’re not a ghost.”

“No shit, darling. The _real_ Divina Devore is very much alive. I’m…something else entirely. Consider me a special blend of fairy magic and Christmas Spirit. It was actually Vic’s idea for me and my sisters, you’ll meet them later, to appear to you this way. A bit of humor to lighten the mood.”

“You really want to lighten my mood?” Brian glared at her, “how about disappearing, the same way you came in.”

“Temper, darling,” Divina admonished. “Now come settle in, we have so much to talk about.”

“ _We_ have nothing to talk about.”

“You’re right. _I’ll_ be doing most of the talking…you just park yourself right here beside Miss Devore and _listen._ I have quite a bedtime story for you.” Divina held up a large red scrapbook with a sprig of holly embossed on the cover.

Brian knew he didn’t want to see what Divina was going to show him, but a strange compulsion drew him back to the bed. He sat down, crossed his ankles and folded his arms over his chest. 

“Well? Can we get this over with already?”

Divina smiled. “You think I have nothing better to do two days before Christmas? Trust me, darling, I’ll make this as quick as possible.” She opened the book to a page marked, _Christmas Day, 1978._

“Ah, here we go.” Divina turned the book for Brian to see the photographs of his childhood home. “You were seven years old and wanted a new bicycle for Christmas.”

“I was there, I remember.”

“Then you also remember this is where you lost your Christmas Spirit.”

Brian rolled his eyes.

“You didn’t get the bike you wanted and you ran away.”

“Jesus. I nearly froze spending the night in the kid next door’s stupid tree house and my fucking parents never even knew I was gone.”

Divina looked thoughtful. “You know, sometimes a new perspective can change everything. Let’s take a trip down memory lane…and change your view of the past.”

“Think again. I’m not interested in…” Brian stopped speaking when he noticed snow falling in fluffy flakes all around him. “What the fuck?” He was standing in his parent’s backyard. The same backyard he had just been looking at in a photograph.

“Interested or not, it’s time for you to know a few facts about the night you ran away,” Divina told him.

Brian tried to focus on reality…only he wasn’t sure what _was_ real. He looked down and saw his bare feet covered in snow.   
“Why am I not freezing my ass off?”

“Because we’re not really _here_. Think of it like watching a home movie. No one here can see or hear you. You can’t affect anything in this place…but you may be _affected_ by being here.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Just watch, you might learn something.”

Brian’s reply was forestalled by a small child running by, carrying a small overnight bag in one hand and a pillow in the other. It was seven-year old Brian. Though his eyes welled up, he bit his lip and refused to let the tears fall as he ran. 

“Poor dear. You were so stubborn, even then. You were damn determined to teach your parents a lesson, weren’t you?”

“Not that it did much good. They were so wrapped up in themselves, not only did they forget it was Christmas, it was New Year’s before they noticed.”

“No, no,” Divina said as Brian started off in the direction of his younger self. “What we’re here to see isn’t that way.”

Suddenly, they were standing in his parent’s bedroom. “This is what we came to see.”

“I seriously don’t want to see _anything_ that goes on in here.”

“Then cover your eyes, but _listen_.”

Brian’s mother came out of the bathroom in a ratty terry cloth robe, her shoulder length hair was unbrushed and there were dark circles under her eyes. She stumbled and clutched the dresser, a grimace on her face.

“Christ. I had no idea she started drinking so young.”

“She isn’t drunk,” Divina said as the bedroom door opened.

“Joan, your mother says she can’t look after the kids because her bursitis is acting up. Guess we’ll just have to muddle through as best we can.”

Brian flinched at the sound of his father’s voice. 

“What about your sister? Can’t she watch them for a few days, Jack?”

“No, don’t you remember? They’re in Peoria with her husband’s people. Won’t be back for another week.”

Joan burst into tears. “I can’t do it, Jack. I can’t take care of Brian and Claire right now. I just can’t.”

“Okay, honey.” Jack awkwardly patted his wife’s shoulder. “We’ll manage. It’s not like they’re babies anymore. Mrs. Keane sent some food over, so we won’t starve, and Claire can help keep an eye on her brother.”

Joan continued to cry uncontrollably.

“Jesus Christ, Joan! We’ll get through this, but you have to stop being so hysterical.”

Anger burned in Joan’s teary eyes as she looked up at her husband. “I just lost a baby, that entitles me to be as hysterical as I want.”

Jack left the room and Brian followed him out into the hallway. He heard the creaky basement door open and shut. He knew that sound meant his father was going downstairs to be alone…to drink. With a leaden feeling in his stomach he turned back to the bedroom and caught sight of nine-year old Claire hiding behind the Grandfather clock down the hall. Tears were running down her cheeks. Brian sighed and walked back over to Divina.

“I never knew,” he said to her.

“Now you do. You mother miscarried on Christmas Eve. New perspective, huh?”

Brian said nothing.

“Alright, time to go. I’ve got to get you back before my sister comes for you.”

A split second later, Brian was back in his loft.

*  
A knock on the door startled Brian out of his reflections on what he had just learned about his family. He automatically went to the door and opened it, not thinking at all about who, or what, might be on the other side. 

Dressed in a red velvet frock with a big white bow at the waist stood Shanda Leer. 

“Justin’s not here,” he told her.

“Of course he isn’t, he’s still in New York. He won’t get into town ‘till tomorrow.”

Brian frowned at her.

“Oh, I’m not the real Shanda. I’m here to see you…I think you met my sister earlier?” She batted her false lashes at Brian.

“Let me guess,” Brian said, looking her over top to toe, “you’re Christmas…Present?”

“Got it in one. Now, can I come in already?”

“Would it do me any good to say no?”

“Not really. I always feel knocking is more polite than the way my sisters just barge in…but doors and walls aren’t really obstacles for me.”

With a resigned sigh Brian stood aside and let her in. 

Shanda looked around the loft for any sign of Holiday Cheer, but not so much as a single strand of tinsel, not one evergreen needle, not even a lone candy cane to signify the approach of Christmas. 

“This is more drastic than I thought.”

“Will this take long?” 

“Got something better to do?” Shanda asked, crossing her arms. 

“Uh, yeah. _Anything_ else.”

“I’ve seen some interesting cases in my day, but never anyone quite like you.”

“Thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment. How can you have absolutely zero Christmas Spirit?”

“I’m not big on birthdays.”

“But it’s about so much more.”

“It’s an over-commercialized, right wing attempt to force a set of out-dated Christian values on the masses through hackneyed sentimental symbols like _Santa_ and _Frosty_. Oh, and not to mention really cheesy music.” 

“Christmas is about more than religion, Brian. This celebration is older than Christianity. Every year the shortest day of the year gets shorter. It’s not noticeable of course, it’s not even measurable yet, but every living thing _feels_ it. Every year that the process begins to reverse is another year humanity prevails. Reason enough to celebrate, surely?”

“Sorry, my primal, pagan instincts just aren’t roused by greenery and garlands.”

“Christmas is about the renewal of hope, peace on Earth, and love for your fellow man.”

“At last! Now that’s an idea I can really get behind.”

Shanda glared at him. “Come on. It’s time for you to see what you’ll be missing if you decide to spend another year all alone.” 

*

Debbie’s house was bursting at the seams. The sixteen adults and kids that were gathered for Christmas dinner were scattered throughout the rooms downstairs. Carl, Michael, Ben, Lindsay, and Mel were listening to a litany of _Southern Gothic_ stories, compliments of Em and Calvin. 

Hunter was sitting on the stairs, enthralled by the little glowing screen of his Game Boy. Gus was equally oblivious to the chaos around him as he sat on the floor concentrating on getting the lines just right in the picture he was busy drawing, while little Jenny slept soundly upstairs.

Rodney, Ted, and Blake were in the kitchen having some pre-dinner nibbles, under the guise of _helping_ Debbie who was dishing up the mountains of food she had prepared. 

Jennifer and Justin were carrying food to the extra table that had been set up, buffet style, between the kitchen and living room. 

“Are you going to see Brian this afternoon?” Jennifer asked as she put the antipasto platter and basket of garlic bread on the dining table already laden with enough food to feed an army. 

“I promised to take Molly to see the new Harry Potter movie this afternoon, after she gets home from dad’s,” he said, forcing a smile for his mother’s benefit. 

“You’re a good brother. But…” she began hesitantly.

“But?” Justin prompted.

“I’m just a little surprised, that’s all. You’ve barely seen Brian since you moved to New York…I thought he’d be the first person on your list. And…you’re staying with us.”

“Are you trying to tell me you don’t want me to stay at your place, mom?”

“Of course I’m not!” Jennifer’s face softened. “I’m thrilled, Molly and I are both thrilled, to have you staying at home over Christmas…it’s just…Justin, is there anything wrong? Between you and Brian, I mean.”

Justin shrugged. “You know how Brian gets around the holidays. All he wants is to be left alone.”

“But I thought after…everything, this year might be different?”

“I guess some things never change.” Justin finished stacking the napkins and plates at the end of the table. After a brief silence he asked. “Mom, do you still love dad?” 

“Wh-what?” Jennifer stuttered.

He smiled at her horrified expression. “Calm down. I’m not about to suggest the possibility of you _ever_ getting back together. I just wondered, after everything you’ve been through, all the shit, all the good things too, is the capacity for love still there. Even though you grew apart…and despite the fact that dad’s an asshole…do you still love him, at all?”

“Asshole status aside, yes. I suppose there’s a tiny part of me that will always…love your father for what we shared. And especially for giving me two wonderful children.” She tilted her head to one side and watched Justin thoughtfully for a moment. “But this isn’t about your dad and I is it?”

With a sad smile Justin said, “I think Brian and I are over. For good this time. I know he loves me, and I can’t imagine not loving him, but we’re never going to find middle ground. Brian’s been distancing himself again. Since I moved, it’s almost as if he’s preparing for the end. And…I think maybe he’s right. Maybe love isn’t enough. Maybe some people just aren’t _meant_ to be together.”

“Honey,” Jennifer gave Justin a hug. “Talk to him. Tell him how you’re feeling before you jump to any conclusions.”

“What’s the point? He’ll deny there’s a problem, as always…like I said, some things never change.”

Brian was stunned to hear that was how Justin felt. Sure, he never expected whatever it was between them to last forever, but Justin sounded so… _final._

“Mommy, mommy!” Gus called as he ran up to Lindsay with his finished drawing in hand. “Look at my picture, mommy.” 

“Sure, honey.” She took the paper and glanced at it…then looked at it again, her mouth dropping open before curving into a smile.

“This is wonderful, sweetie,” she told her beaming son. “Hey, Justin,” she called across the room. “Your spot in the art world may be challenged soon. Come take a look at Gus’s latest masterpiece.”

Justin walked over to the couch and leaned over Lindsay’s shoulder. His smile turned bittersweet as he took in the surprisingly realistic portrait.

“Wow, Gus. That’s a great drawing of your dad,” he told the child. 

Content with the praise from his mom and Justin, Gus went back to his crayons and paper while Lindsay proudly showed the picture around the room. 

Brian moved to get a look at the drawing as it was passed to Emmett. Though rendered in mostly blue, the face in the picture was unmistakably Brian’s. A feeling of pride washed over him and he looked over at his son who was already deeply absorbed in his next drawing. The way he leaned over the end of the coffee table, able to ignore the multitude of distractions in the room because of his total focus on the picture he was working on, was remarkable for his age. It also reminded him of Justin. The warm glow of pride turned to pain. _It’s over._ Justin’s words haunted him.

“Yeah, too bad the subject isn’t here to see it,” Mel said, looking at Lindsay. 

“You know how he gets at Christmas time,” Linz replied quietly.

“I should, that line has become a fucking mantra over the years,” laughed Mel. “Why is it that everyone tip-toes around the great God-Kinney at the holidays, and yet _I’m_ expected to put up a tree, drink a gallon of egg nog, sing carols, and buy Christmas presents for all my non-Jewish friends?”

“Mel, I’m sorry.” Emmett looked quite serious. “I didn’t realize we were being so insensitive. Should I return your present?”

“Well, I’m not _that_ bothered by all the Christmas mishigas.”

Everyone laughed.

“Trust Mel to be practical when it comes to the important stuff, like presents,” Michael said.

“Besides, we celebrate it as a secular holiday, and Christmas should be for everyone,” Lindsay said.

“So, Michael, what is it with Brian and Christmas anyway?” asked Justin.

“In general? He hates any holiday that encourages an outpouring of emotion and sentimentality, you know that.”

“Come on, there has to be more to it than that. Brian doesn’t just make fun of it, like he does Valentine’s Day, he really hates it.”

Michael shook his head and frowned at Justin. “He hated it when I met him. But he’s never told me why.”

“Dinner’s ready!” Deb shouted from the kitchen, turning everyone’s attention away from the subject of Brian.

As everyone drifted by, Brian caught a bit of the conversation between Mel and Linz.

“I guess you’ll be taking Gus over to see him tomorrow or the day after?”

“No,” Linz answered.

“Then when?”

“I’m not. Brian hasn’t visited or phoned Gus once since we settled in Toronto. I know he loves Gus, but I can’t go on being the one to make all the overtures. It’s time for Brian to decide how involved he wants to be in his son’s life.” 

Shanda touched Brian’s arm. “Time to go.”

Back in the loft and all alone again; Brian thought about what a crazy night this had been. He poured himself another Scotch and tried to drown the gnawing sensation in his stomach. 

“Fucking hell.” He wished he could blame it all on a bad trip, but he hadn’t had anything stronger than alcohol and nicotine in…in a lot longer than he wanted to think about. He put down the empty glass and went to the bedroom to lie down. _Maybe it’s an acid flashback,_ he thought hopefully. However, he had a nagging feeling he wasn’t that lucky. He lit up a cigarette and waited for the night to be over. 

*

“Sorry I’m late, but this is our busiest time of the year. I’ve been stuck in 2015 with an accountant from Altoona all night.”

Brian didn’t even flinch at the intrusive voice. He took a long drag on his cigarette and told the newest apparition, “I knew it was too much to hope you wouldn’t show…Jesus,” he said as he got a good look at the figure near the foot of his bed, “Vic has a fucking warped sense of humor.”

Mysterious Marilyn brushed at a spot on her gold lame gown and ignored Brian’s comment. 

“We had better get a move on, I have three more visitations to make before dawn.”

“Sure, why not. It’s not like this night could get any weirder,” Brian said.

“Oh, honey, careful about that…you know what they say about saving the best for last. You might find yourself surprised by what I have to show you.”

“Whatever. Let’s just get it over with.”

A fog rose around them, swirling and consuming them until Brian could see nothing save the dense gray mist. Then, it simply disappeared. After a few rapid blinks to clear away the moisture in his stinging eyes, Brian noticed they were no longer in the loft. 

They were standing in the middle of an office. A modern, sleekly outfitted office that he had never seen before. Brian looked at Marilyn for an explanation.

“Just watch, I think you’ll find this very interesting,” she told him.

The door opened and in walked a dark haired man, preoccupied by the sheaf of papers in his hands. He went over and sat down behind the desk, adding the papers he was carrying to a stack already on the desktop. 

The young man punched a button on the phone and said, “Barbra, find me everything Thompson had on the Casewell case…and bring me some coffee.” When there was no answer, he remembered it was Christmas Eve. He scowled at the offending object. “Dammit! Peter Casewell’s case goes to trial in less than two weeks and I can’t get anything done for the fucking holidays.” He ran a hand through his hair in a gesture oddly familiar to Brian and dove back into the stack of paperwork in front of him.

“Who is he?” Brian asked Marilyn, knowing the guy couldn’t see or hear them.

Marilyn pointed to the door. 

Brian walked over and reached for the knob, but his hand passed right through it. He tried again. And again his hand went through. 

“Um, sweetie?” Marilyn smiled. “You don’t actually _exist_ in this time-space continuum…try just walking through it.”

“Right.” With a grimace of annoyance, Brian did as she suggested and walked through the seemingly solid structure with no trouble. Once on the opposite side, he read the brass name plate: _Gus Peterson J.D._

“That’s _Gus?_ ” Brian asked, stumbling back through the door, looking from the young man to Marilyn and back. “ _My_ Gus?”

“No, Lindsay and Melanie’s Gus. You decided to let him go, remember? For his own good.” 

A shadow passed over Brian’s face, but he remained silent, watching the grown up version of his five-year-old son. A smile began to form as he noticed the similarities between Gus and himself. Then another thought crossed his mind and the smile turned to one of irony. 

“So, this is his future without me? He’s an obviously successful lawyer…Mel must be out of her mind with happiness.”

“Yes, he’s the most sought after corporate lawyer in the city. And the youngest person ever to make partner in this firm’s history. But,” Marilyn sighed and looked at Brian, “he’s not happy.”

Brian laughed. “Who the fuck is? And how is that my fault? After all, _I_ wasn’t around to fuck up his life…so shouldn’t you be showing this lovely little scene to the munchers?”

“Nope, this glimpse into what could be is all yours. In this reality, Gus grew up resenting what his little sister had with her father. All the visits, all the summers in Pittsburg, all the _time_ she got to spend with Michael while Gus saw you once, maybe twice a year. He grew up feeling like an outsider in his own family.” Marilyn shot a sideways glance at Brian, “Like father, like son, huh? Look at him, Brian. He’s twenty-five and he’s choosing to work on Christmas Eve instead of going home to be with the people who love him.”

Just then, the phone rang. Gus grabbed it and said a brisk, “Peterson,” into the receiver. He frowned and briefly closed his eyes as if gearing up for a battle. “Hi, ma. No, no…I already told mom I’m too busy to come to Toronto. Yeah, ma, I know! Look, don’t pull this guilt shit on me. I’m sorry if her ideal illusion of us as the perfect family is shattered, but I have my own life here in New York and I can’t drop everything just because _she’s_ on the verge of another nervous breakdown! Jesus Christ, when is she not?” 

Gus pulled the phone a little bit away from his ear and Mel’s voice filled the room.

_”You’re as bad as your fucking father! He never gave a shit about anyone but himself and you’re exactly the same!”_

“Well, I wouldn’t fucking know, ma, but I’ll take it as a compliment.” 

_”Gus, Lindsay needs you. So you better get your ass home in time for Christmas dinner tomorrow.”_

“She _needs_ to up her dosage of medication. Sorry, ma, gotta go, busy busy,” he said as he lowered the phone back into the cradle. 

“Fuck,” Brian said under his breath. “What a little prick.”

“Actually, I couldn’t agree more. But, underneath the asshole is a frightened kid who just wanted to know his dad loved him.”

Brian rolled his eyes. “We’re back to all this being my fault, are we?” 

“Maybe a look at the bigger picture will help you understand how you fit into it. Since we’re already in New York, why don’t we pop in and pay Justin a visit?”

Before he had time to think about it or respond, the strange mist swirled up around them again and a moment later it faded to reveal they were standing in a different room. 

Brian bit his lip as he looked around the shabby chic living room. Unmistakable signs of Justin were everywhere- from the framed Rage posters to the paint splatters on the floor, and the large abstracts on the walls to the hastily kicked off shoes half hidden under the couch. Brian took a deep breath and tried to dislodge the nervous lump in his chest. _Justin’s future._ There was something else about the tiny apartment that caught his eye…a Captain Astro lunchbox on the shelf above the computer, wind-up Robot toys and a three-foot inflatable Godzilla, all very un-Justin-like things. _Mikey’s influence,_ he thought before his attention was drawn to the painting above the mantle. It was Brian’s Lukacs, or as Justin often referred to it, _the naked guy painting,_ hanging there. He wondered what that meant. 

“Where is he?” 

“He’ll be along any second now…but, there’s something you should probably prepare yourself for…”

Marilyn was interrupted by the sound of a key in the lock. The door flew open and in came Justin, struggling with a bag of groceries in each arm. 

His heart sped up. _Sunshine._ Even twenty years older, Justin was as beautiful to Brian as the night they first met. The sight of that face never failed to stir something deep within him. Time had sharpened his features, no longer was he the dewy youth Brian knew. His hair was darker and brushed straight back from his forehead. His blue eyes were framed by wire-rimmed glasses. Brian forgot for a second that Justin couldn’t see him and made a move in his direction, but stopped short when a voice from the other room called out.

“Oops, too late,” Marilyn said under her breath.

“J, is that you?” A twenty year older Michael, looking much the same as he had at thirty-five except for pronounced crow’s feet and graying temples, came through the living room wiping his hands on a kitchen towel. He walked right past Brian and Marilyn, and went over to Justin, greeting him with a quick, familiar kiss on the lips. “Here babe, let me help you with those.”

“Thanks.” Justin handed over one of the bags and shrugged out of his coat, juggling the other bag while he hung up his coat and scarf on the rack by the door. “Remind me to _never_ go shopping on Christmas Eve again.”

Michael made a face. “I did tell you not to go, but the horror stories of my days working Christmas at the Big-Q obviously had no effect.” He turned to toward the kitchen.

 

“I thought you were joking,” he said, following Michael into the kitchen…Brian and Marilyn followed too. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to go home for Christmas?” Justin asked, putting the groceries on the counter and wrapping his arms around Michael from behind.

“ _This_ is home.”

“Deb called again this morning.”

“I don’t want to talk to her.” Michael turned in Justin’s arms and said, “I don’t want to talk to any of them…so if she calls back, tell her to fuck off.” 

Brian shook his head in dazed confusion…confusion that was quickly turning to anger at the sight of Justin and Michael in each other’s arms. 

“What the fuck is this?” he demanded of Marilyn.

“Yeah,” she sighed, “this is going to take a good deal of explanation. You might want to settle in and relax.”

“Fuck you… _what_ are they doing together? What happened to Ben? What happened to…me?”

“Well, as you know it all began the Christmas after the bombing…when you started to push everyone away again. First Justin, and Gus, and as J.R. got older and Michael started spending more time with her, you pushed Michael away as well.”

Brian made an impatient noise in the back of his throat, urging Marilyn to get to the point.

“ _Consequently,_ you weren’t there for him when he needed you most…ten years later when Ben died. But Justin was, or tried to be, but no one could have gotten through to him but you. Of course, you were too busy doing what your parents never quite managed to accomplish. _You_ succeeded in drinking yourself into an early grave.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re dead, dear. Less than a year after Ben. It was too much for Michael. He decided you were right all along, that love isn’t worth the hurt…so he bailed. He sold the house and comic book store, kissed his mother, Hunter, and Jenny goodbye and left Pittsburg for good. Moved to Florida for a few years, became a full-time writer. That’s what eventually led him to New York…and to Justin. They ran into one another by chance and right away they both realized the same thing- each of them saw in the other a link to _you._ ”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Memories make strange…and lonely, bedfellows. Michael and Justin are keeping you alive in their heartfelt, but misguided, way. They certainly never intended to become lovers.” Brian made a snorting sound at that. “But,” Marilyn continued, “it happened. And while there is genuine affection there…they’re fooling themselves that they’re in love because what they are is stuck in limbo. They hold on to each other in order to hold on to you.”

Feeling an overwhelming sense of betrayal, Brian clenched his jaw and flexed his fingers. He was itching to storm over and force them apart…his best friend and the love of his life. _How could they,_ he fumed silently. 

Then Justin moved to put away the groceries and Michael went back to his pots on the stove…and Brian was able to breathe again. As his blind rage began to subside, Marilyn’s words started to sink in. He noticed how _defeated Michael looked, how _empty._ And how tense and ill Justin looked, Brian had never seen him so pale and thin, his trademark ‘Sunshine’ smile no longer in evidence, he almost looked like a ghost himself. It was disturbing for Brian to realize that they looked as miserable as he felt. _

_“I don’t want to see anymore,” he said quietly._

_“Of course you don’t, because it _hurts._ It hurts you to see them together, and to see them suffering. No one wants to feel the pain you feel, that _they_ feel.” Marilyn took pity on Brian then. “It doesn’t have to turn out this way…you still have a chance to change this.”_

_“What?”_

_“This future hasn’t happened yet. If you want it to turn out a different way, you have to be mindful of you decisions in the present. Open your heart so it can heal and stop the wounds from festering. Justin, and Michael, and Gus, and Lindsay, Melanie, Ted, Emmett, and Deb all need you…but just as importantly, _you need them._ ”_

_“What if I…can’t do it? What if I can’t change?” Brian asked, his voice rough with emotion._

_“Then this will become reality. Everything you’ve seen tonight will come to pass.”_

_Brian looked at Justin and Michael. He saw past the moment, past the pain. He saw the little blond twink who had done the impossible and made _Brian Kinney_ fall in love…and the childhood friend who had saved his life on more than a few occasions. He thought of Gus alone with his ambitions…the spitting image of his father at twenty-five._

_“I won’t let this happen,” he vowed._

_“Good,” Marilyn smiled. “I think we’re done here then.”_

_Once again the gray mist engulfed them._

_*_

_Brian awoke with a feeling of panic. Something was wrong and needed to be fixed. But what? He sat up slowly, trying to remember what the fuck he had taken last night to cause this kind of hangover… _last night._ Everything came back in a rush- Vic and his freaky _friends_ , Gus, _Michael, and Justin_. _

_“What a fucked-up nightmare that was,” he said aloud to the empty loft._

_His throat felt dry and itchy so he got up and went to the kitchen for water. He grabbed a bottle out of the fridge and gulped half of it down in long swallows. Then he turned froze…there on the counter was an open bottle of Scotch and _two glasses._ _

_“Shit…” The panicked feeling returned full-force as he realized it hadn’t been a dream after all. If he didn’t do something, tomorrow Justin and Lindsay would give up on him. Gus would grow up with as much uncertainty as Brian had. Michael would lose his fucking mind and eventually, he and Justin would… _No_. Brian refused to let his thoughts go there. _That_ would not happen. But how to stop it?_

_He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He knew _what_ he had to do, the question was _could_ he? He had a mere twenty-four hours to accomplish the hardest task of his life- facing his fears. A determined look came into his eyes as he went to get the phone book. _Of course I can do it; I’m Brian Kinney for fuck’s sake. I can do anything.__

_*_

__Wait ‘till Justin sees this,_ Brian thought, looking at the transformed loft. Miniature lights twined around the support beams and along the bedroom divider twinkled. A huge Christmas tree, every branch home to an ornament, stood in front of the window. It was surrounded by pots of beautiful red Poinsettias and dozens of colorfully wrapped boxes in all sizes. More Poinsettias were placed throughout the loft, in the kitchen, on the computer desk, the coffee table, the dining table. There were even clusters of mistletoe hanging above the door, above the bed, and Brian’s personal favorite spot…hanging from the shower head. _

_Now there was one thing left to do before putting his plan into action. Brian called Jennifer._

_*  
He saw Justin before Justin saw him. Not that Justin was hard to spot; all that blond hair acted as a beacon in the dull, drab, colorless gray of the airport. Brian absently rubbed his mouth, wiping away the smile generated by the thought that perhaps it was more the man than the hair that made it so easy for Brian to pick him out of a crowd._

_Brian didn’t call out, but he made sure to position himself in Justin’s path and stood waiting for Justin to find him._

_“Brian!”_

_“Justin.” He smiled and opened his arms to his young lover. Justin went into his embrace without hesitation, both of them heedless of the crowd around them as they kissed with all the pent up passion of time apart._

_“What are you doing here?” Justin eventually broke the kiss to ask._

_“Picking you up. I called your mom to find out what time your plane was getting in so I could surprise you.”_

_“Good job, I’m well and truly surprised,” Justin laughed._

_“This is just the beginning, Sunshine.” Brian pulled an envelope out of his pocket and handed it to Justin._

_“What’s this?”_

_“A Christmas present. I want you to open it now.”_

_“Brian, you don’t ‘do’ Christmas.”_

_“I’ve been re-thinking that...I might have jumped to some extreme conclusions a long time ago. Maybe it’s not all that bad.” Brian sucked his lips in and then said, “I want you to stay with me, at the loft. And tomorrow we’ll go to Deb’s big bash.”_

_“You’re actually going to Deb’s _Christmas_ party?”_

_“Well, she’s always said it’s a standing invitation. So I’m a little late, better than never, right? Now, open your gift already.”_

_Justin bit his lip and looked up at Brian, then at the envelope. He carefully loosened the flap and pulled out a piece of paper. He smiled as he read the print._

_“A gift certificate for 10,000 airline miles?”_

_“So you can come home, or fly to Ibiza, or anywhere else,” Brian shrugged. “Anytime you want.” He looked Justin in the eye. “I know I’ve not been the easiest person to love, but I’m trying. I refuse to let something as trivial as…distance come between us. And I don’t expect you to do all the work, I want to meet you halfway. Just remember when I fuck up, which I will, just remember I’m trying.”_

_“Okay, who are you and what have you done with Brian?” Justin asked, only half joking._

_“Well, I do feel like a new man,” grinned Brian. “But some things never change.” Brian leaned in close and said, “I love you, Justin.”_

_Justin smiled a beatific smile that lit up his whole face._

_“Come on, Sunshine,” Brian said, slinging an arm across Justin’s shoulders. “I have another surprise for you at the loft,” he said, thinking wistfully of the mistletoe hanging in the shower.  
_


End file.
